


Arcade Armistice: A Morbid Moratorium on Human Experimentation

by TaroSlate



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Competition, Dib in a halloween costume because I'm self-indulgent, Field Trip, Gen, Halloween, If you can call ZaDf fluffy, Ms. Bitters is scary, Not ZADR, One Shot, POV Third Person, Roller rink, ZADF, Zim and Dib are platonic hate friends, arcade games, cheesy references, clueless alien, dib's pov, just kidding never enough banter, kind of fluffy?, lots of banter, probably way too much banter, roller skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 05:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaroSlate/pseuds/TaroSlate
Summary: The Skool hosts a field trip to the local skating rink, and students can dress up for it because it's nearly Halloween.  Everyone is under intense scrutiny, and every time Dib tries to out Zim, rink staff come by and they both have to smile like everything is going swimmingly.  Frustrated, Dib offers a truce just for tonight, and as a compromise they end up competing in the rink's wide array of arcade games.





	Arcade Armistice: A Morbid Moratorium on Human Experimentation

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot was inspired by [this art](https://dibglib.tumblr.com/post/187467603369/d?is_related_post=1) by dibglib, and the following prompt that [Seraph](https://www.fanfiction.net/~johnsmith) came up with based on said art: 
> 
> "Fic idea: The skool hosts a field trip to the local skating rink, and students can dress up for it because it's nearly Halloween. Everyone is under intense scrutiny, and every time Dib tries to out Zim (like when a skater bumps into him and his disguise falls off), rink staff come by and they both have to smile like everything is going swimmingly. Frustrated, Dib offers a truce just for tonight, and they end up competing in the arcade games and having a great time, the end."
> 
> Thank you, Dib and Seraph, for letting me write this one-shot based off of these gold nuggets of creativity. It's amazing what fun collabs can come out of Discord servers.

Dib only ever stopped leering at Zim when Ms. Bitters gave him the stink eye, and roller rinks were no exception. Grudgingly, the young boy would go back to prying off his boots on his isolated bench perch, every so often smuggling a death glare into the peripheral of his culturally inept rival. The alien was scowling at his roller skates. The pair of wheeled footwear, at least four sizes too big, proved once and for all that Zim’s grasp on human measurements was severely lacking. Jeez, they looked like they could swallow both his legs whole.

That cold, unearthly shiver ran up Dib’s spine again, the one that told him Ms. Bitters was watching. His gaze dropped like a stone, refocusing on his own skates. He slipped his socked feet inside and did up the laces with practiced movements, eyes flitting up to make sure Zim was witnessing how much better than him Dib was. The Irken narrowed his eyes and drew his mouth into a sneer. Dib flashed him a grin and got up, gripping a nearby rail for support as he acclimated. It had been a while since he’d skated, but this wasn’t his first time. He remembered coming here with his sister when he was a kid. Er, a younger kid. This put him at an advantage, and he intended to relish in it.

Look at him. That stupid alien wasn’t even wearing a costume. This was supposed to be a Halloween-themed field trip (yeah judging from how many kids were tripping over their own costumes in the roller rink,  _ that _ had been a bright idea). Of course, even after all this time, Zim still didn’t have an inkling of what this particular human holiday was about. It was coming up this weekend, and Dib had no doubt in his mind that the oblivious Irken would spend the night barricaded in his home this year same as the last. Well, fine by Dib. If Zim was too scared to come out of his home on Halloween night, that left Dib free to enjoy himself on a holiday for once. 

The paranormal investigator had already put together his costume, something cool but maneuverable (lucky for him seeing as he’d decided to wear it to this very athletic field trip). This year he was the Grim Reaper. A little cliche? Yeah, but black cloaks were mysterious and spooky and cool. He’d made sure that the hooded fabric didn’t reach past his boots so that he wouldn’t be tripping all over himself. Large round glasses rested carefully atop the nose of his painted skull face. A raven hood cast a shadow over sugar brown eyes, his scythe-like hair replaced by the silvery scythe prop strapped to his back.

That feeling of hopeless dread had departed, therefore Ms. Bitters wasn’t watching and the coast was clear. She must’ve been preoccupied with something else, leaving the paranormal investigator to taunt his nemesis in peace. Students, as per usual, orbited around Dib like he was a weird, distant star, so he skated over to the alien without fear of a collision. “Hey, Zim. Why aren’t you wearing your skates? Struggling there?”

Zim smacked him away and Dib yelped, rolling backwards into a wall. “NonSENSE! Zim knows not of STRUGGLES. When I accomplish something I do so quite effortlessly.” He made a flighty gesture towards the skates. “Your crude Earth deathtraps are no challenge for me.” 

“They aren’t deathtraps.” Dib grunted, steadying himself on a table and shoving Zim back, albeit only hard enough to jostle him a bit. “People do this for fun. Not that  _ you _ would know,  _ space boy _ .”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Zim rolled his wrist and his eyes at once. “I knew that. That was, ah… a JOKE! Yes! I was joking, as human worm babies do.”

Dib maneuvered in front of Zim and stood to his full height, hands on his hips. “Well then, what are you waiting for, normal human boy? Put your skates on.”

Zim cast another skeptical glance at the wheeled shoes. Dib could practically see him sweating apprehension through his horrible green skin. Zim stepped foot in approximately one (1) roller skate, wobbled, and promptly got all chummy with the floor. Dib doubled over and started convulsing with snort-riddled laughter. From a distance, it would almost look like they were good friends clowning around.

“L- Look at that! You’re a-- a natural!” Dib panted between oxygen-starved wheezes. Zim growled and latched his claws around the boy’s ankle. Dib’s eyes widened too late. “Hey--”

_ Thud _ . “Ow!” Dib rubbed under his glasses as the overhead lights swam in dizzying circles. Crap, he hoped he hadn’t smudged his face paint too much. His back ached against the hard, unyielding floor. A pink and green blob gradually came into focus, towering over the paranormal investigator’s prone form with a sharp grin. 

“It seems it is  _ you _ who is the ‘ _ natural _ ’, Dib-stink! AHAHAHAHA-- Ahhh! Get back!”

Somewhere amidst his foggy relief, Dib had to wonder what could possibly get Zim to shut up so abruptly. He didn’t have to wonder for long, because Ms. Bitters familiar, grating voice turned his blood glacial every time. “Get up, Dib.”

Dib scrambled to his feet as best he could in skates. He teetered a few times before he could finally regain his balance, but when he did, he stood at attention. Zim looked ready to piss himself. 

“If students cannot behave themselves, this field trip will come to an abrupt end,” she snarled. “And you will  _ all _ be forced to write a report on the leading cause of death in roller rinks instead.” She was like a spooky oak tree, and she only seemed to grow taller and more gnarled as she went on, spectacles glinting darkly in the festive lights. “Now I don’t want any more trouble from  _ either of you _ , do you understand?”

Dib would’ve thought that the leading cause of death in roller rinks was roller skates, but the way she said it made him wonder if it was something else, like choking on pizza or getting tripped by stupid green aliens. He swallowed hard. “Yes, Ms Bitters.” She turned her menacing gaze on Zim, who was nodding so vigorously Dib thought his wig might fall off.

When she finally disappeared from view, Dib crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, feeling serious now. “Your secret won’t last, Zim. Not here. It won’t take long for people to notice there’s something wrong with you.”

“There’s clearly something wrong with YOU and YOU haven’t been strapped to an autopsy table,” Zim laughed, and Dib mentally cursed him because heck, when did Zim get so good at comebacks? He racked his brain for something clever to shoot back.

“At least I can skate!” is what he came up with, and he wanted to trade it for something less stupid but he stood by it like a heckin champ and bid his nemesis farewell with a very mature stuck-out tongue. 

Even as he did donuts around the rink, Dib kept his eyes on Zim. It took the alien way too long to figure out he needed smaller skates, and then what felt like another ten minutes figuring out how to lace them up. Dib hadn’t realized watching something could be so agonizing and amusing all at once. And then, Zim finally stepped into the rink. It was like watching a baby kitten trying to walk for the first time. Several times he slipped and fell on his butt, and Dib snickered without fail in every instance. Except for the most recent fall, after which Zim leaned against the wall and frantically clutched at his eye. Through the cracks in-between the sharp green digits, Dib could make out the glassy magenta of Zim’s insectoid eye… his  _ real _ eye. His contact lens lay abandoned on the rink floor, where small hard wheels regularly threatened to crush it into a pancake. Dib quaked with excitement and possibly traces of hysteria as he pointed and unhinged his jaw. That was until he felt that familiar cold sensation, like an icicle just pierced his heart. He looked around for Ms. Bitters and, horrifyingly, could not find her. He just knew she was watching. His arm retreated as a pair of roller rink staff sped past to give Zim a hand.

“Ooh, that looks pretty bad, little buddy. Are you okay?” asked one, a tall lanky man. 

“Do you need to sit down, sweetie?” asked the other, a dark-haired woman.

“Yes, yes, I have, er, the pink eye,” Zim explained, his go-to excuse. Dib fought down the urge to scream and throw a fit. What was the point? No one was going to believe Zim was an alien unless it slapped them all square in the face. He sighed, slumping against the wall and looking decidedly more dejected than he had moments earlier. He fiddled with the sleeves of his costume and let out a puff of frustrated air. “I’m so tired of this.”

“Tired of what,  _ Dib? _ ” came Zim’s shrill voice in his ear, almost as if the alien had teleported to him. “Losing to the amazing ZIM?!”

Dib’s eyebrows sank. “Yeah, whatever, Zim. I’m not in the mood. And I don’t want to write a report about choking on pizza.”

“What? What has my amazing victory to do with pizza?”

“Nothing.” Dib waved it off. “It doesn’t matter. And this isn’t a  _ victory _ , Zim. I could still try to expose you and just make life miserable for both of us if I wanted to. But I don’t, I…” His eyes wandered to the floor. “...I wanna call a truce.” 

“ _ Truce? _ ”

“Just for tonight--”

“TRUCE?!”

“Oh boy.”

“TRUCE, WITH YOU, MY MORTAL ENEMY? ZIM NEEDS NO  _ TRUCE _ FROM YOU, HYOOMAN!”

Dib sighed and got to his feet, wobbling only slightly this time. “Okay. I’ll just go tell Ms. Bitters that you would like to write that report--”

“There!” Zim yelped. ”Is no need to get Ms. Bitters.” He dusted himself off and popped his contact lens back in. “I accept your filthy hyooman truce.”

Dib’s eyes waned to slits and jabbed a finger at his nemesis. “That means no evil schemes tonight. No plotting to take over the Earth. No human experimentation. And in return, I don’t try to expose you. At all. But only for tonight, and then it’s all back to normal.”

“Hmm.” Zim brought a gloved hand to his chin as if to consider. “No human experimentation whatsoever?”

Dib couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “No! None at all.”

Zim grumbled. He obviously found this route quite objectionable. But one sidelong glance in the general direction of Ms. Bitters revealed that he found the alternative even moreso. “Zim accepts these terms.”

Dib exhaled. At least he could relax now. Well, not really. He could never relax around Zim. Over the years they had both learned that any ‘truce’ between them was a superficial facade at best; at worst, a crippling betrayal just waiting to happen. There was no ‘relaxing’ around his rival. But maybe fake truces were a little less exhausting and sanity-draining, for the time being. Dib would’ve liked the opportunity to actually enjoy a field trip for once. 

“I grow weary of these waxy double-axled contraptions of grease, human,” Zim complained, slicing into Dib’s train of thought like a knife through melted butter. He lifted one of his skates and waved an arm with airy distaste. “Is there no other way by which the worm children amuse themselves in this filthy, rancid skate-hole?”

“Hmm.” Dib’s eyes floated up to the ceiling in quiet contemplation. “Actually, yeah! There is.” He fished around in his pocket and came up with a few crumpled $20 bills, plus a handful of change. It was supposed to be his lunch allowance for the day, but Professor Membrane had been in such a rush that morning that he had far overcompensated his son. “All the worm children love arcade games.”

Zim tilted his head to the side inquisitively. “Ar… cade?”

“Yeah. Come on, space boy. You get to blow stuff up, you’ll like it.”

That did catch the Irken’s attention. Gripping the wall for balance, Zim inched his way steadily towards the nearest rink exit. Dib glided there with ease, removed his skates, and tapped his boots several times as he waited for his rival to catch up. “I guess this is no challenge for the Almighty Zim,” he goaded with a chuckle, crossing his arms.

“Not in the slightest,” Zim retorted, stepping out next to Dib and nearly toppling to the floor for the umpteenth time. His arms flailed wildly and latched onto the nearest support, which just so happened to be Dib. The boy tensed as clawed fingers dug into the fabric on his shoulders. “Hey, watch the costume! I put a lot of work into this!” Thanks to that whole nightmare world fiasco, he hadn’t even gotten to dress up last Halloween. He didn’t want his paranormal baggage ruining the occasion  _ again _ . Yes, he did just refer to Zim as paranormal baggage, which was starting to become a more literal and more appropriate designation with every passing second. 

“Blah, blah, big deal!” Zim barked, and Dib was suddenly drowned in an intense tsunami of regret at this horrible, horrible decision. “Your silly costume is inconsequential to Zim.” Dib shoved him off and took great satisfaction in watching his rival’s face make painful impact with the floor.

“How dare youuuu--”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Zim, what are you doing on the floor? Let’s go already.”

With an indignant huff, Zim kicked off his skates, pulled on his boots and clambered to his feet. He trailed after Dib with a vague interest glimmering in the blue of his eyes, watched as the raven-haired boy exchanged one of his slips of paper for bits of metal and then led the Irken to their ultimate destination. 

There was a surprisingly large area sectioned off for the arcade and its distracting neon hues. Polygons flashed and danced around frantically as electronic beeps and chimes sang from wall to wall. One glance behind him and Dib could already sniff the tang of festering skepticism coming off Zim.

“What now, Dib-stink?”

“These are games. Humans play them for fun and stuff.”

“Yes, I gathered that much. But why on Irk would Zim find these clumsily-assembled human inventions to be entertaining?”

“Uh oh.” The paranormal investigator brought a hand to his cheek softly, back still turned to his archnemesis. “Sounds to me like someone’s  _ scared _ .” 

Zim flicked his obscenely long tongue and scoffed. “Me?  _ Scared? _ ”

Dib whipped around, the dark fabric of his costume billowing capriciously as he pounded a fist to his chest. “Scared you’ll  _ lose  _ to Earth’s greatest defender!”

“In your dreams, filth-child! Zim loses to no one.”

“Then face me.” Dib jangled his pocket and listened to the clank of metal on metal. “If you’re so sure I’m not gonna kick your butt!”

“I will! And I am.” Zim crossed his arms and made a  _ very _ dignified face.

“Great!”

“Yes, great!” 

They lapsed into silence, which Zim could only abide for so long.

“So uh. Which game do you wanna play?”

“Um. Oh. Hmm. Let’s see.” Dib tapped his foot and hummed, looking around, colorful squares of light reflected in his glasses. “Oh man, I used to love this one!” He shouted, dashing over to an overtly space-themed set-up. He’d never much been one for video games in general (clearly Gaz was the gamer of the family), but this game. Oh man, this game held memories. “You had to shoot down all the alien ships before they reached Earth—” He cast a glance over his shoulder and grimaced at his rival’s look of apparent disgust. 

“You mean to tell me you have  _ games _ in which you gun down armada vessels with your primitive Earth-tech?” He snorted and gestured condescendingly. “What a laughable fantasy! Does your kind think the coming invasion is some sort of joke?”

“Eh,” Dib sighed. “Sadly.”

“That is no warship,” Zim whined, jabbing a trembling finger at the screen. “That is an insult!”

“It’s a cluster of pixels,” Dib deadpanned. “It’s not supposed to be hi-def.”

“AN INSULT!” Zim warbled and Dib’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. He crammed several quarters into the coin slot.

“Zim, shut up and get over here.”

“Do not order me around, human,” Zim spat, stepping up to the console.

“It’s two-player cooperative. So, we’re playing on the same team on this one.” 

Zim squinted. “I thought that this was a competition.”

“It is.” Dib formed another determined fist. “We’re fighting side by side, but whoever blasts more ships and racks up more points wins. And I’ve played this game before.” The paranormal investigator pulled his lips back in a devious grin bordering on psychotic, a monsterish smirk that somehow reeked of even more insanity than usual with that ghoulish ashen face paint slathered across his dark cheeks. “Sure you’re up for the challenge? You can always run crying back to the skating rink.”

“AHA! Don’t make me laugh,  _ Dib _ .” Zim flexed his wrist and planted his other hand on his hip. “It is YOU who will run crying back to that smelly grease-pit.”

Dib tilted his head downwards darkly. “We’ll just see about that.” He reached across Zim’s torso. “Here, those are your controls. That’s the joystick—”

“Your silly Earth toys require no explaining, Dib.” Zim wrapped an uncertain claw around the joystick and gave the bright scarlet button an experimental tap. “I can figure out these controls in mere seconds.”

Dib was eying him with a half-masted frown. “If you say so.”

“Oh, I do.”

The game started up and Dib went to town, blasting aliens left and right. He watched the pixels flicker and blink, and only after several ships had been lasered into oblivion did he spare a glance at Zim. The Irken seemed to have figured out the gist of it and was furiously tapping the fire button, annihilating anything that came within range. At least, for all his incompetencies and screw-ups, he was good at  _ that _ , intentional or not. Wait, no, that was a bad thing. 

The alien was cackling loudly like no one was watching (and really, no one was, most of the children were in the rink), mashing that little red circle with reckless abandon and jerking the joystick around so harshly that Dib feared it would snap off any second. He knew from experience that Zim was stronger than he looked, and he really did not want to have to explain that one to Ms. Bitters. 

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA! PITIFUL  _ HYOO- _ MANS!”

Dib cleared his throat loudly.

“Er-- I mean-- Take THAT, you… EVIL ALIEN! Your far superior technology is no match for my crude Earth weaponry!” 

Dib snorted so violently he almost choked. Then he remembered he was supposed to be kicking Zim’s butt and snapped his attention back to the screen. As the number of targets dwindled, the two rivals grew intensely silent, eyes glued to the screen, hands moving at furious speeds across the controls. They didn’t even spare a dirty glance for the other, each determined to reach their ultimate victory.

“Aha!” Dib cried as he snagged the last ship, just tipping him over the edge with the 50 points he needed to break the suspenseful tie. “Take that, Zim!  _ I _ win!”

“Impossible!” the Irken hissed “You count incorrectly!”

“The score’s right there on the screen—“

“You LIE!”

“You know, Zim, maybe if you didn’t just  _ fire randomly _ you would get more points.”

“I was not ‘firing randomly,’” the alien’s claws bent to form pointed air quotes. “I was implementing Irken military techniques too advanced for your tiny Earth brain to comprehend.”

Dib was losing count of how many times he was rolling his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“Anyways, it is ZIM’s turn to pick a game.”

“What, you want me to kick your butt at something else now?”

If Zim heard the boy (in all likelihood, he hadn’t), the words went unacknowledged. With the rigid gait of a soldier, he marched down the aisles of consoles, dismissing one after the other until his slitted eyes settled on the one directly ahead. With almost mechanical movements, the Irken lifted his arm and aimed his finger.

“That one.”

“Doom Doom Revolution?”

“Yeeeees,” Zim purred, rubbing one hand over the other like he were scheming somethin’ fierce.

Dib poked him in the chest. “I know that look! What are you planning?”

The Irken slowly pivoted his head to face him and grinned from… well, not from ear-to-ear seeing as he didn’t have any. “I’m planning to  _ ‘kick your butt _ .’ Unless you are  _ scared? _ ”

“I’m not  _ scared _ .” 

“Then please,” Zim gestured towards the machine. “After you.”

“Hmph.” Dib stepped up to the dance pad, where the alternating lights of four colorful arrows flirted with his boots. He slipped another batch of quarters into the designated slot, selected his settings, and watched as his avatar strode onto the screen.

“Get ready to dance until you collapse lifelessly to the germ-ridden arcade floor!” chirped the machine.

Dib tensed in anticipation. The music started up and his feet flew into action. He was off to a solid start — not  _ great _ , but not bad. He liked this song and at first, stomping the arrows was kind of fun. Yet as the music grew more and more frantic, Dib’s steps fell shorter and shorter of the mark. Left, front, front, right— Wait, no, it was left, front, left, right! The game had already moved on— how was he even supposed to achieve  _ that _ combo? That was humanly impossible. What the heck— You’d have to have extra limbs to keep up with this pace!

The screen flashed red as Dib failed out about halfway through the song, and he slammed a fist on the console. “Nooooo!”

Zim clutched at his gut, spasms of laughter rocking his entire body. “Ahahahahaha! You lose, Dib!”

“Oh, right, as if you’ll do any better!” 

“Oh, won’t I, Dib? WON’T I?!” he didn’t give Dib a chance to reply, or to step off the dance pad for that matter. His palms connected roughly with Dib’s shoulder as he shoved him out of his spot. 

“Hey!” Once again, the human’s words fell on deaf ears— er, lack thereof. Zim was inputting his settings with a confident air of detachment that made Dib want to punch him.

“Dance until you suffer intense life-threatening exhaustion, you lazy maggot!” sang the machine.

“Oh I will,” murmured Zim. “Such great exhaustion will I have!”

The music blared and Zim’s boots rocked the platform, his determined expression bathed in harsh, hot pink light. Yeah, he was alright, Dib supposed, crossing his arms. But not good enough to beat this paranormal investigator. 

“You’re on fire!” the machine trilled. “What a great way to die!”

Dib did a double-take. Zim’s feet were flying now. The music was picking up, and still his legs moved in perfect time with its frenzied tempo. Dib was so focused on Zim’s boots that he paid no mind to the movement in his peripheral until two long, spider-like metal appendages slammed down on the dance pad. Now four limbs were working in unison to bring about Dib’s downfall.

“Hey! You can’t use your PAK legs!” Dib whined. “That’s cheating!” 

It shouldn’t have even been possible to begin with. The tapered points were so fine, they should not have registered with the machine. Like at all.

“I recall no rule stating this was illegal, Dib-stink.”

Every supernatural-hunting bone in Dib’s body was screaming for him to point and shout, draw attention to the clearly alien technology, for salvation or science or spite or all three. But a cursory glance around the general vicinity revealed that they were the only two in the arcade. And what did it matter? Hadn’t Dib decided that he wanted to enjoy himself tonight, not waste this field trip and his breath on unbelieving morons?

He returned his attention to the Irken and begrudgingly admitted to himself that his movements were hypnotic. Once Dib fixed his eyes there he could scarcely drag them away. Stupid alien and his stupid dance moves.

“Ha!” Zim shouted, striking a triumphant final pose as his chest heaved. “You never could defeat me, fool! And you know why?”

“Because you cheated?”

“No! Not because I cheated!” Zim leaned so far over the dance pad’s metal rail that he could’ve fallen off and pointed at Dib’s face like he was having a seizure. “It is because I am SUPERIOR in every way!”

“I’m gonna say it’s because you cheated,” Dib retorted, leaning away from Zim’s gloved finger. “And besides—!” His stomach decided now was an appropriate time to interject with a demanding growl, and he grinned rather sheepishly. “Uhh. Let’s take a pizza break.”

The Irken made a pained noise at the back of his throat. “Zim requires no such break.”

“Yeah well, all the  _ normal _ human boys do, so.”

“Hmmm.” Zim only needed to contemplate that for a moment. Disgusting as human food was to him, he didn’t want to appear abnormal. Again he flexed his wrist. “Of course. A  _ pizza _ break.”

* * *

Not long afterwards, Dib slid into his chair across from Zim with a steaming plate of cheese and grease in hand.

“Oh come on. How can you not like pizza? Everybody likes pizza. Pizza is great.”

Zim poked at the yellow mush with a plastic fork. “I’m sorry to break this to you, Dib, but Earth has no culinary taste.”

“But you like waffles!”

“How do you know I like waffles?”

Dib tugged at his collar and after a moment or two of deliberation decided to be upfront. “How do you think?”

Zim slammed a fist on the table and Dib jumped. “So you  _ did _ implant telepathic nano-pigs in my brain meats!”

“Wha— Wh— What? No? Zim, you idiot, I bug your house all the time!”

“Telepathic nano-bugs!”

“No!” Dib massaged his face in exasperation. “No, whatever. Have fun missing out on the joys of pizza.” He shrugged, dripping a gooey string of cheese into his mouth. 

“Telepathic nano-pizza!”

Dib almost choked. He beat his chest rapidly and managed to get it all down. Once he was certain he wasn’t going to die, he looked Zim dead in the eye, and burst into the loudest string of laughter yet. Everyone, from the skating rink to the arcade, looked at them and wondered whether Hell had frozen over. Because from a distance, if you squinted just hard enough, it almost looked like sworn enemies were friends.


End file.
